Unclaimed
by Mach1av3ll1an
Summary: Ten years had passed since he began racing. Seven years had passed since he ran away from his home in Manhattan, New York and began hiding from law enforcement. Two years had passed since he returned to Manhattan and raced against his former mentor. Now, he is told by many that he is the son of some Greek/Roman God, and has to move into some sort of camp "for his own safety".
1. Unexpected Visitor

**_Full Blurb:_**

 _Ten years had passed since he began racing. Seven years had passed since he ran away from his home in Manhattan, New York, began hiding from law enforcement and quietly sponsored by BMW and Schnitzer Motorsport, a substantial feat for an illegitimate street racer. Three years had passed since his encounter with Razor in San Francisco. Two years had passed since he returned to Manhattan and raced against his former mentor. Now, he is told by many that he is the son of some Greek/Roman God, and has to move into some sort of camp "for his own safety"._

 ** _Ello Guys! Mach1av3ll1an 'ere!_**

 ** _As some of you might be able to tell, I just changed my username, as I thought my previous one (TunerzMatic) was cringe-worthy._**

 ** _As I am still relatively new to fanfiction writing, there may be issues with my grammar, and my story may lack detail. If there are any elements in my writing which you dislike, please give me feedback, preferably in the form of constructive criticism._**

 ** _(Another quick note: THIS SHALL NOT BE TABOO)_**

 ** _Anyways, enjoy the read!_**

 ** _Disclaimer: I do not own the rights for the PJO and NFS series'._**

* * *

 **Chapter I – Unexpected Visitor**

A ubiquitous canopy of greyish clouds loomed over a modern apartment complex whose geometric, monochrome exterior enticed all those who were around it.

Nobody noticed the Blue/Silver Beemer that slipped into the dark alleyway right behind the building. None of the passers-by paid the whine of straight-cut gears any attention. The M3 GTR travelled slowly down the graffiti-free alleyway to prevent drawing attention to itself. As it turned around a corner within the alleyway, it approached a dead end. The brake lights flickered on as the driver parked the car right at the end of the alleyway, and shortly after, the distinct grumble of the P60B40 V8 ceased.

The driver's side door opened and revealed a Caucasian man, awkwardly clambering out of the humid and cramped interior (the massive, bulky roll-cage didn't exactly help), which wouldn't be surprising to any bystanders, considering the man in question stood at six feet two and had a (somewhat) wide body frame. He was dressed casually, wearing an unzipped black hoodie (with the hood up, obscuring his facial features) over a white t-shirt with a black face mask on just in case someone decided it was a good idea to pull down the hood attached to his hoodie. Underneath, he wore cargo pants (with a multitude of pockets), and to top it all off, a pair of well-worn sneakers. At first glance, he would've resembled the visage of your average teenage delinquent. The type of person many wouldn't pass a second glance to, which was the exact image he was attempting to achieve.

The man ran his hand through his hair, the pupils within his sea-green eyes contracting as he thought of how a certain relative would react to his dishevelled appearance when he removed his mask.

The man closed and locked the door soundlessly (a skill he had mastered over the course of the past seven years), before walking back through the alley, approaching the main revolving doors of the building.

Construction of the luxurious tower only concluded recently, and since it was located near the centre of New York, the price for all of the apartments it contained, especially the five-storey penthouse, was ludicrously high. The small and insignificant fact that residential prices were through the roof recently did not help either.

So, imagine the man's surprise when he discovered that the penthouse in the aforementioned complex and the metallic black Rolls Royce Phantom which he spotted several times ascending in one of the car lifts to the penthouse were both registered under a _Sally Jackson_.

When he ran away from Manhattan when he was eighteen years old, the Jackson household was struggling. They never had enough money to have three full meals every day, as his stepfather, whom he nicknamed "Smelly Gabe", squandered away most of their income. This was one of the main contributing reasons which explained why he began street racing for money at fifteen years old. This also contributed to his decision to leave New York when he was eighteen years old, alongside the fact that "Smelly Gabe" was also abusive.

He could recall every occasion in which he was beaten and physically abused. This definitely applied to his final encounter with his stepfather. He could never force the image of the once reflective metallic knife covered in a distinctive viscous crimson liquid out of his thoughts. In the past, he might have gone as far as to say it haunted him, but after a while (a while = seven years), it did not affect him as much as it might have done before.

How his mother had become so wealthy over the course of the past seven years was still a mystery to him.

As he entered the lobby through the revolving doors, he stopped abruptly to marvel quietly at the geometric, monochrome interior, which matched with the modern exterior of the building.

Before anyone raised an eyebrow at his behaviour, he began walking to the lifts, taking in a deep breath as he produced a stolen residential ID card from his front-left jeans pocket. He pressed the "up" button on the metal panel beside the lifts. He hoped this would work.

* * *

The sound of high-pitched, female laughter graced the Jackson Residence.

Out of all the men that Sally Jackson had dated since her son disappeared, Paul Blofis was undoubtedly the most charismatic.

He was also certainly one of the most humorous, as shown by the fact that she almost slipped off her barstool as she shook due to constant laughter.

A grin was plastered on Paul's face as he continued to reveal why many of his students labelled him as their favourite teacher, using creative humour in such a way that it never failed to please.

As they interacted, the unmistakable doorbell ring pierced through the air, surprising both of them, causing their conversation to ground to a halt. Sally Jackson sighed as she stood up and walked towards the main entrance; a reflective black metal door with a biometric fingerprint scanner instead of a conventional key-lock.

When the opening between the door and the frame was large enough to reveal the person standing outside (the door could always be opened from the inside, regardless of whether the door was locked from the outside or not), she halted, her eyes widening in recognition and disbelief as she began to recognize the teenager standing in front of her.

"Eh, mum…" Percy Jackson began with a small, expectant smile (which was also laced with a small amount of fear) on his face as he took off his face mask.

He never got to finish before his mother pounced on him with a tight hug.

* * *

 ** _There goes the beginning of my latest story!_**

 ** _I may type up a lot of new stories soon, and I will only continue those that you guys enjoy or the ones I am interested in._**

 ** _Anyways, peace out._**

 ** _(Side note #1: Plz follow or fav this story, I really want an excuse to continue this)_**

 ** _(Side note #2: Plzzzzzzz…)_**


	2. Callous

**_ELLO MAH DUDES! HOW'S IT GOING!_**

 ** _I've got a quick question for you guys: should I continue my story "Closed Eyes", or should I just abandon it?_**

 ** _Also, I know some of you may dislike the fact that I gave the Most Wanted/Carbon protagonist a name and a face, and would like him (or her, as EA never truly revealed or mentioned what gender the protagonist was, though he/she is mainly perceived as male due to the "face reveal" in the first cut-scene at the beginning of career mode in Carbon, and his/her past relationship to Nikki) to remain anonymous. Because of this, I decided to eventually create a multi-chapter story filled with one-shots of meetings between the Most Wanted/Carbon protagonist (and he/she will remain anonymous) and characters from other fictional universes which takes place between Carbon and Most Wanted (there has to be a massive time gap between the two: think about it from a logical standpoint. Do you think Cross would immediately resign as a Sergeant just to chase after a suspect? Do you think he could become a notorious bounty hunter [Darius recognized him] in such a short amount of time? There is also the fact that the main protagonist's bounty decreased from over one million to a hundred and fifty thousand, as mentioned by Cross in the cutscene after the M3 GTR was wrecked, which can't just occur in a day)_**

 ** _I am also planning to write/type fictional stories (not fanfiction) on Wattpad, so tell me whether you would like me to focus on my fanfiction stories more or should I begin creating actual fiction._**

 ** _Judging by the fact that roughly 30 visitors that read this story and only two out of these thirty fanfiction readers have followed this story, I may be oblivious to the fact that this story is utter sh*t. Like I said in the previous two chapters, PLEASE leave me a review, as I really do require some constructive criticism._**

 ** _Additionally, sometime after I complete this fanfic, I will most likely rewrite it, so keep your eyes open for that._**

 ** _On another side note, Percy ran away from his home in Manhattan when he was eighteen (the blurb should help you figure out the rest)._**

 ** _(Note #2: the Percy in my fanfic will be slightly out of character)_**

 ** _Anyways, enjoy the read!_**

* * *

 **Chapter II – Callous**

Percy Jackson slumped in his M3's bucket seat in boredom as he watched another "Online Education" video, which this time around was regarding numeracy, the bright screen of his laptop contrasting with the darkness cast by the night sky. Part of him regretted finding and reconciling with his mother, and he really should have expected something like this to happen.

After getting his M3 GTR fixed and modified by the Schnitzer blokes in a dark, badly maintained nondescript warehouse on the outskirts of New York, being recognized worldwide as one of the most talented racers worldwide (coming after guys such as Keiichi Tsuchiya, Ayrton Senna and Alain Prost, though that was to be expected as he was an illegal street racer who didn't actually own a proper racing license, and he was only known by his alias, _Blacklisted [_ hence why the text on his vanity plates is " _BLACKL1573D_ "], which his "fans" created for him) and discovering how wealthy his mother was, he genuinely thought life was only going to improve from then on, and he had finally received a stroke of luck that would actually last.

Unfortunately, the aforementioned stroke of luck ended rather quickly.

Sally Jackson insisted that he should receive the education he "never had", despite the fact that education was included in his sponsorship deal with BMW and Schnitzer Motorsports (which, despite the amount of evidence he had provided, she didn't believe).

His mother was convinced that each and every one of the education-related certificates that he had presented to her were all fake, instead mistaking his intentions to prove the amount of education he had undertaken as a mere ploy to "escape" his "missed education". Being his mother, within two minutes of his "ploy" being executed, she had set up multiple student accounts on a myriad of education sites.

His sponsors somehow found a way to enrol him into Eton College in Windsor, England for his final senior year, convinced his teachers to record all of his lessons, and send him the aforementioned recordings and all of his homework tasks via email (he used an IP scrambler to avoid revealing his location). If there was an exam, he would rush to the nearest BMW dealership, and complete the exam there under test conditions (it was monitored by a security camera; the feed was then sent to Eton along with clear photos of his answers).

Soon after Percy graduated from high school, the Beemer guys helped him enrol at a university of his choice. In the end, he ended up choosing the University of Central Lancashire, or UCLAN. He continued to do "out of school" studies like he did in Eton and graduated earlier that year with several master degrees in neuroscience.

Even before he was sponsored, he studied in Goode High (the school he studied at before he ran away), paying his school fees with the money he earned and won from illegal street races.

There was also the fact that he had never received anything under ninety-five percent in all of his exams, had an immaculate homework completion record and received full marks in his International Baccalaureate exams.

All this was achieved by a full-time street racer who spent most of his time escaping from the law.

Just as Percy _returned_ from his contemplations, as if on cue, a distinct wail of sirens resonated in the background, his limbs freezing and his eyes widening slightly as his mind computed and processed the immediate threat, his fists clenching and his mindset altering as the result of a sudden fear-induced burst of adrenaline.

If he was still the moronic, naïve teenager he once was, he would've immediately dismissed the potential threat, believing that some sort of accident had occurred near his area to garner the unwanted and undesired attention of the police.

However, he wasn't a child anymore, nor was he as detrimentally naïve as he used to be. He could not risk being caught, as he understood the severe consequences that could come his way if he was forced behind bars.

He slammed his laptop shut, tossing it to the side, trusting the thick plastic computer cover to protect its contents. He quickly flipped all the switches on the dash, and turned the ignition key, slamming the short-shifter into first gear before roaring off into the night, the piercing whine of the straight cut-gears immediately announcing its presence, the blow-off melody of the recently installed turbos sung when he released the accelerator to brake a mere whisper in comparison. He only turned on his headlights as he approached two hundred kilometres per hour.

The stress and paranoia that came hand-in-hand with being a notorious street racer never diminished.

* * *

A mass of dark clouds stood over Long Island, it's endless cries resulting in tears of rain, striking down objects with shots of lightning, followed by uncontrollable, booming sobs of thunder.

Rainwater built up against an invisible barrier, surrounding and protecting its land mass and inhabitants from the perpetual storm.

A three-storey building sat just metres away from the impenetrable, supernatural barrier.

It had a boxy, unimpressive exterior covered in cracked, faded white paint. Tinted rectangular windows could be seen the centre of each wall for every single storey except for the wall facing away from the barrier, as that was where the entrance was. From a top-down point of view, it looked identical to a cube-shaped box. Despite what the tinted windows could suggest otherwise, it did not exactly provide new visitors with an excellent impression of the supernatural Summer camp.

However, when said visitors discovered and realized the pristine, spotless and homely interior wasn't as Spartan as they first expected, they began to look forward to their "short visit" to the Summer camp.

Unbeknownst to anyone viewing the building or "The Big House" outside the protection of the barrier, a concrete porch jutted out from the side of the building facing away from the barrier, or where the main (and only) entrance stood. The surface area of the porch equalled the base of "The Big House", which peculiarly seemed like a person with feet as long as they were tall.

At the centre of the concrete porch stood a circular wooden table, with multiple dining chairs made from the same material placed around the circular table with almost perfect rotational symmetry. The wooden seat closest to the building was pulled out, and on it sat a short man with black hair, purple eyes, a small, slim frame, and skin so white one might say he hadn't seen the sun for many years. Combine this with his distinct lack of muscles and his rather noticeable beer belly, he seemed rather harmless.

Of course, when a select few (*cough* *cough* demigods *cough* *cough*) senses the overwhelming and intimidating aura of power radiated from his body, they would most likely shy away, afraid and fearful of his godly presence. However, a teenager with the legs of a goat and prominent horns jutting out of his head stood (despite the fact that he was literally standing next to a wooden chair) bravely as he quarrelled with the god.

If anyone with knowledge regarding the existence of Greek gods came across the bickering pair, they would be stumped.

In the unmentioned hierarchy pyramid of Camp Half-Blood, the gods stood at the top; they were basically kings and queens to those who lived within the barrier. Satyrs, meanwhile, were at the very bottom of the food chain. The hierarchical equivalent to dirt.

For the two to argue was unheard of; satyrs tended to worship the ground on which gods walked on, their heads slamming on to the floor as they kneeled.

However, the satyr in question was not just any satyr.

"…for the last time Nova…" Dionysus began.

"It's Grover, _sir_." Interrupted Grover, his voice laced with sarcasm as he mocked the disinterested wine god.

"Whatever, impetuous satyr," Dionysus said dismissively, his monotonous voice nonchalant. "We have argued for seven years about this with no success on your side: you cannot search for this so-called _Peter Johnson_ …"

"First off, its _Percy_ Jackson, and I can clearly recall sensing the power contained within his aura. I have no doubt the amount of potential his powers have is equal to or even surpasses that of Thalia. What if he was taken and brainwashed by an empousa, a titan, or even a primordial? If he was swayed against our side, then our enemies would gain a massive advantage." Grover responded coldly, his facial muscles clenching in anger and frustration.

"You do realize if what you claim is true, my father will not hesitate to strike him with the Master Bolt." Dionysus said calmly. Grover's mouth opened, prepared to spout a retort.

"Save it. I know you believe that it should be worth it to risk it so this half-blood friend of yours won't be brainwashed by the opposing side. However, you should consider the fact that if my father becomes paranoid, and he will, and strikes your acquaintance with his bolt and misses, or in the unlikely case that your friend survives, he will willingly join the opposing side, and the possibility of swaying him back to our side will be slim. You shall not be looking for him, and that is final." Dionysus says, effectively ending their argument.

One could tell by the glare present on Grover's face that he wanted to object but knew that if he did, he would most likely be transformed into some woodland creature by the wine god.

Luckily though, he had a backup plan.

As Grover walked away from the wine god, he pulled out his cell phone (he wasn't a demigod, and therefore had no scent, so he could, therefore, use electronics without sending out a beacon alerting all monsters within a ten-mile radius) and punched in a mobile phone number he had memorized previously in case of emergencies. He held the cell phone against his ear as a certain Roman praetor answered the call.

"Eh Grover, what's up?" Reyna said, presumably with her usual stoic expression.

"Got a quick question for you: did camp Jupiter happen to have high-ranking insiders within the police force or army…?"

* * *

The high-pitched shriek of straight-cut gears eclipsed the endless series of thunder and resounded throughout the surrounding area. It also eclipsed a familiar sound which switched between two sound frequencies at a constant rate, heralding the arrival of the police.

Amidst the endless sea of green coating the island, a black, sinuous stretch of tarmac cut through the omnipresent forest.

A blur of silver and blue darted from corner to corner, it's headlights highlighting the dark road ahead. The distance between its front left fender and the guardrail in a perfect four-wheel drift (similar to that of the small slides old F1 drivers used to corner) as it hit the apex, already at an obtuse angle with the straight right after the corner exit due to the driver's late corner entry, effortlessly achieving the "slow-in, fast-out" racing line to maximise exit speed, clearly displaying the skill and knowledge the driver wielded as he increased the gap between him and the flashing blue and red lights behind him.

Once upon a time, it was known as the home course of "Darius' Apprentice", a notorious street racer who was known for his aggressive driving style and mysteriously disappeared three years after his debut race, in which he settled a close victory against Darius himself.

It was only a coincidence that _Blacklisted_ , a street racer with worldwide fame and notoriety was racing down the mountain pass in such a brazen manner despite "lacking" knowledge of the course. The strange and suspicious fact that he was able to follow an almost-perfect racing line on a course he was "exploring" for the "first" time was also simply a random coincidence.

Percy gritted his teeth as he glanced in the rear-view mirror. He should not have been so naïve to believe he could simply park in an alleyway, spending his time watching educational videos and get away with it. In modern times, surveillance is omnipresent, even in dark "backdoor" alleyways.

There was also the question of the four police cars chasing him. The one at the back who was struggling to keep up seemed to be a Ford Focus RS500 (he could tell as the original matte black paint remained visible on most of the exterior). Right in front of it was a Corvette Z06 with a massive rear wing on the back, in front of which was a Dodge Challenger Hellcat Demon. Then there was the car trailing right behind him (even though he was falling behind, though very slowly). It was, lo and behold, Godzilla itself, an R35 Nismo GTR.

How the police force was able to afford such patrol cars, he would never know.

The constant _bangs_ created by the engagement of firearms reverberated in his ears as he slammed the accelerator onto the floor.

Fortunately for him, every bullet missed.

As Percy rounded the final corner on his downhill run, his eyes widened, and he inwardly cursed as he eyed the sight in front of him.

Two Hummer H3s with identical police liveries were lined up perpendicular to the road to form a roadblock. One he could not simply smash through, as he had done numerous times in the past. However, just in front of the roadblock, there was a turn-off to the left. Well, it was more of a gap between the guardrails, in front of which was dirt with distinct tire tracks heading off into the forest. While one might be suspicious about the fact that the police left a clear opening, Percy could say otherwise.

The police obviously knew the dimensions of the M3 GTR. A bone-stock E46 M3 would probably struggle to pass through the gap. The M3 GTR, meanwhile, had massive wide-body arches that stretched to the horizon. However, despite this, he had a plan. The M3 GTR's suspension was extremely low, and from what he could tell, the wide arches might possibly fit _under_ the guardrails.

As he approached the gap at above a hundred kilometres per hour, he pulled the recently-installed hydraulic handbrake, stopping parallel to the police Hummers present. He did not want to risk damaging his M3, as it held a large amount of sentimental value to him. However, he also could not risk being caught, in which case his M3 would most likely be crushed.

He knew exactly which outcome he preferred.

Percy floored the accelerator, wincing as he heard a distinct scraping noise (he was surprised because he could actually hear it over the straight-cut gears) as the guardrails drew "pinstripes" on both sides of his M3, oddly reminiscent to his first encounter with Cross in San Francisco.

The scraping noise seemed to last for eternity and for a moment, all Percy could think and worry about was if the now-exposed metal would rust under the torrential rain, even though his worries were unfounded due to the fact that the chassis on his M3 was created from a blend of carbon fibre and titanium, preventing rust spots from forming.

The wide-body arches fitted right under the guardrail with a surprisingly small margin and the upper part of the M3 barely squeezed through.

However, despite all antagonizing factors, he was through!

He let out a sigh of relief as he quick-shifted into second gear (another skill he had perfected over the years), entering the dark, unwelcoming forest at what could be considered as a reckless rate of speed.

Percy quickly glanced at his rear-view mirror before the close array of trees could obscure his vision of his behind, grinning when he saw the seven patrol cars at a standstill with their sirens off, raising the metaphorical white flag as the ghost-like M3 scurried off into the unknown, the whine of straight-cut gears once again eclipsing every other sound.

* * *

 _ **Guys, got a quick question for you: do you think I should extend my chapters?**_

 _ **Also, some of you may have noticed how I have combined the (original) 2nd**_ _ **and 3rd chapters. This is because both seemed rather short (the second chapter in particular) and this seemed like a simple solution to boost the word count of both chapters.**_

 _ **Mach1av3ll1an out!**_


	3. Supernatural

**_YES! FINALLY! 1 REVIEW!_**

 ** _(Seriously though thanks for the review Timijaf, I truly appreciate it)_**

 ** _BTW, reread the previous chapter (III), as I added roughly 200 words to it._**

 ** _I also changed and corrected a few details in chapter 1, so check that out as well._**

 ** _(P.S. Sorry about my hiatus, I had to finish off a couple of assignments [plz forgive me])_**

* * *

 **Chapter III – Supernatural**

Every Saturday night (dubbed as "campfire night"), everyone who participated in the second Titanomachy or Giant War (or at least those who survived) gathered around the magical, colour-changing campfire in Camp Half-Blood, listening to the jokes or stories told by volunteers and chatting with their mates from the other camp.

Usually, everyone participated. Just about everyone voluntarily took turns attempting to entertain the crowd, also listening intently to the (typically) humorous short stories and jokes told by others. Even the Hunters of Artemis were participating this time round, despite the amount of "disgusting males" present.

However, unlike all previous occasions, a Greek satyr and Roman praetor, who usually joined in with their past comrades, sat cross-legged at the back, discussing their findings regarding a potentially powerful half-blood who suddenly disappeared.

"This doesn't make any sense! The final sighting of him in Manhattan before he disappeared was seven years ago and the next sighting of him was in San Francisco four years later!" Grover yelled, his facial features scrunching up and his teeth clenching in frustration as he ran both of his hands through his hair. It seemed to be all he did those days.

Just the day before, Reyna sent him two surveillance videos taken from the police archives regarding the last time Percy Jackson was spotted in Manhattan and the next time he was seen by surveillance cameras. When he discovered the time gap between the two and the location of the second clip, Grover had gone berserk.

"Perhaps he discovered his heritage, causing monsters to be alerted to his presence so he had to disappear. However, that does not explain how he was able to avoid surveillance for such a large period of time." Reyna said with a stoic expression on her face.

If Grover wasn't an empath, he would simply presume that she was completely unconcerned about Percy's predicament. However, he could sense the frustration she was hiding behind her façade. Even after extensive research, Reyna's findings were equal to one unit away from zero. Nought. _The square root of Jack_.

He could tell that it had struck a massive blow to her pride, and was therefore the reason why she was as invested in the investigation of Percy's disappearance as he was. Sometimes, Grover mused, her resemblance to Annabeth was uncanny. He could see the daughter of Athena in the same position, executing exactly the same actions as the daughter of Bellona.

Before Grover could make sense of the situation any further, his ears picked up a faint, piercing, high-pitched noise. He could almost immediately tell that the sound was not produced by a human, as the pitch of the noise wasn't as clearly defined as that of a human's voice and it sounded unnatural.

It sounded… _metallic_.

Grover did not hold much knowledge regarding machines and mechanisms, but due to his enhanced hearing abilities, he could tell the sound was created by friction between moving metallic components.

At first, the sound was minuscule, and could only have been heard by those with enhanced hearing (namely satyrs, dryads and a certain centaur) if they were present in Grover's general area. However, as time drew on, the noise became louder and as a result, others began taking notice of the peculiar noise, pivoting their heads in confusion towards the sound.

Eventually, the piercing noise became so loud that it eclipsed the sound of everyone's voices. Everyone present looked in the general direction from which the sound was (presumably) emitted from.

It was only then when Grover heard an easily recognizable sound over the piercing whine. He believed that by itself, the sound in question would already have been considered loud by many, but was only a mere whisper in comparison to the metallic whine. A whisper created from what seemed to be an engine pushing itself to the limit.

At first, Grover firmly believed that everybody present was confused about the metallic, piercing whine. A few had even pulled out their weapons (most likely due to paranoia), though that was to be expected due to the fact that everyone present had participated and experienced the stress and fear that were always present in wars, so any anomalies would draw suspicion and a small amount of fear amongst them. However, in his peripheral vision, he spotted a massive grin present on the face of a certain revived demigod son of Hephaestus.

"OHH…LISTEN TO THOSE STRAIGHT-CUT GEARS! SOOOOO SEXY…* _slap_ *…Oww…" Leo Valdez said as he rubbed his face, faced with the glares of practically everyone present. "The sound might not have been created by these so-called 'straight-cut gears', it could have been from a monster, or even worse, a god, titan or a primordial FROM THE OPPOSING SIDE!" Zoë Nightshade yelled, both her aura and nostrils flaring as she glared at the son of Hephaestus, her prejudice for males and paranoia from the two previous wars affecting her judgement. While she used to be dead, she was able to escape from the underworld when Thanatos was captured and restrained during the second Giant war. It seemed that Hades was turning a blind eye to the escaped souls who fought on the gods' side.

"Well, uh…" Leo began, scratching the back of his head in embarrassment, donning a sheepish smile on his face. "…while it is possible that the sound was created by a supernatural being," Leo yelled, attempting to project his voice in order to be heard over the piercing whine, "I highly doubt that. First off, as a son of Hephaestus, when I touch, hear or smell things, I can sense whether the substance is part of or created by a mechanism. To my ears, at least, the piercing sound in question is distinctly metallic. There is also the plus factor regarding the popularity of straight-cut gears. While many of you may not have heard of straight-cut gears, it's actually quite common within the professional racing world. The reason why it's so popular and deemed advantageous and superior in comparison to helical gears, the typical gears used in bog-standard production cars, by those in the racing world lies within the fact that straight-cut gears don't produce axial loads, otherwise known as thrust loads. The problem is when you start putting a lot of torque through helical gears, the axial loads become so high that you need a very strong transmission case and shafts or axles to contain the loads; this can add significant weight to the transmission. Straight cut gears simplifies the transmission case design and also the types of bearings used, which allows for a lightweight and simple transmission to be designed…"

"JUST GET TO THE POINT ALREADY! WHY IT SO LOUD?! WE DON'T NEED A BLOODY LECTURE!" One of the hunters yelled, who was clearly frustrated. "Well, the reason why it produces so much noise is that it has a higher mating velocity than helical…" Leo began, still shouting so he could be heard over the increasingly deafening noise. However, before he could continue, a hand reached out from behind over his shoulder and clamped down on his mouth, muffling his speech.

Everyone reached for their weapons, warily eyeing the sight in front of them. However, before they could make any moves, the wielder of the hand which was clamped on Leo's mouth walked out from his shadow, revealing Annabeth Chase, who shouted, hoping the others could hear her over the piercing whine, "Long story short, you guys don't need to worry about it. While it is peculiar that someone is using straight-cut gears on the public roads, it shouldn't be anything you guys need to worry about. The sound should dissipate after a while. When the person drives away." After her proclamation, everyone relaxed slightly, though a few still kept their hands wrapped around the hilt of their weapons.

However, the sound only kept increasing in volume, as whatever was emitting the piercing whine approached their general area. However, everyone heeded Annabeth's advice and ignored the sound, waiting for the time when the sound has fully dissipated so they could continue on with their "campfire night" activities.

* * *

Percy squinted and gritted his teeth as he attempted to make out his surroundings under the thick canopy of darkness, fog and torrential rainfall. If he was only victim to only one or two of these conditions, he would be completely fine, still equipped with the ability to decipher his surroundings. However, with all three fully intent on antagonizing him, he could only prepare for the eventual and inevitable accident involving him, his M3 and one of the seemingly invisible and unnoticeable trees lining the edges of the narrow dirt path on which he is travelling on, perhaps due mostly to the insignificant and unimportant fact that the three aforementioned factors worked together to hide his headlights behind an impenetrable shield, effectively reducing his visibility to nought.

Despite the unfavourable circumstances though, he kept the accelerator pinned, forcing his mind to focus on the task at hand instead of the seemingly inevitable and foreseeable consequences. However, he still had a single crumb of comfort. For some unexplainable reason, he always had a talent for handling cars in the rain. In the past, he overheard many conversations between fellow street racers regarding how the rain was "a b*tch", and every time he rode with Darius strapped to the front passenger seat in the rain (yes, every time; Darius never complied with most rules and regulations regarding driving, and the laws regarding speed limits weren't exceptions), he could tell from the early braking points and the delicacy his (ex-) mentor used when handling all three pedals and the steering wheel that driving in the rain in general was much more difficult and dangerous than driving on dry tarmac. Or at least, it was supposed to.

For Percy, however, it was a different story.

For unexplainable reasons, his tyres seemed to wield the same amount of grip in the rain and on wet surfaces generally as he did on dry tarmac. At first, he believed that it was completely normal and that all the concern generated by the racing community regarding racing on wet surfaces was pointless. That was until he experienced his first few street races in the rain. On that specific day, sheets of rain were lashing down onto the road in torrents. It was definitely a noticeable difference relative to all of his previous races, in which he only raced on dry tarmac.

When Percy and all his opponents set off at the beginning of the race, he could already tell something was amiss. He launched off the line exactly like he would on dry tarmac and similar to his previous experiences with the rain, it felt no different to launching on dry tarmac. At the time, all his opponents were driving cars with over two hundred and fifty horsepower, over a hundred more than he did in his Hachi-Roku (which Darius had illegally imported from Japan). Because of this, he expected to be left in their wake immediately after they set-off, praying that his cornering speeds were higher than his opponents could manage so he could (hopefully) catch-up. However, that was not the case. Immediately after he set-off, he launched into the lead, startled, as his opponents' tyres clawed for grip, their back wheels spinning as they scrambled for traction, disappearing into his rear-view mirrors. Every time his opponents tackled a corner, attempting to catch-up with the disappearing 'panda' Trueno, they became smaller and smaller in Percy's review, becoming a spec, before eventually disappearing. At first, he believed it was pure chance that those particular opponents were surprisingly slow and incompetent, after several more races in the rain with a massive lead on his opponents, he slowly came to the realization that his "ability" to grip in wet or rainy conditions in general was not as common as he thought.

While he could not explain the origins of his "ability" and how it worked, it had saved him in many unfortunate circumstances. If it wasn't for his seemingly supernatural "power", he would've most likely been arrested or killed. Despite his lack of knowledge regarding it, he was very grateful for his "ability" or "power".

All he could do now is hope that his previous experiences with the rain weren't all flukes.

As he continued navigating through the dense forest, suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, a loud and distinct _*Thump*_ combined with the sound of flexing metal filled his ears.

Percy gritted his teeth as his M3's back-end snapped out of line, threatening to fishtail as he counter-steered, struggling to deal with his momentary lapse of control. As soon as he tamed his M3's twitchy rear end, he quickly glanced at the driver's side rear-view door mirror, only to discover that two massive blobs of white and two smaller blobs which constantly interchanged colours (between blue and red) dominated the small reflective surface, almost successfully hiding the distinct shape of a car behind it. However, it did not mask the small but noticeable dent on his rear-left wide-body arch, and the other pursuers trailing behind the two blobs of light and the distinct shape of its producer. The driver of the closest and (currently) indiscernible vehicle had clearly tried to pit his M3 in an attempt to make him counter-steer too much, so that when his pursuer slams his (or her, he didn't know) brakes, his front end would launch the other way, causing him to fishtail, completely out of control. This manoeuvre was almost fully guaranteed to work on frantic amateur drivers. However, with his numerous experiences, he was far from inept. He was no longer the asinine, reckless teenager who ignored logic and mindlessly taking unnecessary risks.

 _What the…?!_ Percy thought as he subconsciously pressed slightly harder on the accelerator. _Didn't I evade the police entirely when I turned off the mountain road?_ His current pursuer had seemingly emerged from the shadows, appearing out of thin air. Usually, in other circumstances, he would rejoice in _only_ having one pursuer. However, when the aforementioned factor is combined with his unfavourable circumstances, the headlights centimetres away from his rear end seemed much more threatening than usual, taunting him as he frantically brainstormed ways to evade his pursuers.

Surprisingly, it reminded him of a video game demo he had downloaded and played on his laptop only recently. It was, apparently, the first horror-themed driving game created. Whilst only the demo was available at the moment (as the developers have not finished developing and polishing the full release yet) and the plot was effectively non-existent, every time he spotted headlights in his in-game rear-view mirror, it evoked a primal sense of fear and paranoia inside of him which he did not experience for a long time. The same emotions which were present within his mind in his current predicament. He knew that in the dense, dark forest, there was nobody around to witness their deadly game of cat and mouse, which meant that his pursuers could most likely get away with abandoning police "morals" in favour of catching him.

As Percy returned his gaze to the dirt track ahead, he began contemplating ways he could use to evade his pursuers. _I could possibly try feinting at the entrance of the next corner…nah, I can barely prepare to enter a corner normally with this sort of visibility, let alone risking an accident by feinting…_

Before he could contemplate any other methods or tricks he could possibly use to evade his pursuers, he spotted a vague but familiar shape appear up ahead beside the unnamed dirt track. Its lower half was made up of a vertical pole, which eventually seemingly protruded into a triangular shape, which was its "head". It was, unmistakably, a road sign. Because of his reckless speed, the words present on its "face" became somewhat discernible only moments later, illuminated by his headlights. Despite his obscured vision, he could still read the clear, bold text present on the surface of the triangular road sign.

 _Camp Half-Blood_

 _Camp Half-Blood…? That's a rather peculiar name…_

Wait. _A camp?!_

 _Sh*t…_

 _I really hope it's abandoned…even if it isn't, I genuinely hope nobody is up and about at this time, as with my headlights blinded, there isn't much I can do to avoid running over people if they suddenly appeared in front of me…_

As Percy contemplated the dark possibilities of what may occur, out of nowhere, the fog and rain suddenly disappeared from his vision.

 _What…_

The sound of twisting metal suddenly resounded from behind, dominating the threatening roar of his M3's straight cut gears for a mere second.

He immediately glanced at his centre rear-view mirror.

Percy gasped.

Two of his pursuers were at a complete standstill. The front ends of their cars were completely bent, displaying irreparable damage to their chassis' and their front sub-frames. They had seemingly crashed into an invisible wall, shielding his location, which seemed to be an almost empty clearing, from specific unwanted visitors, a category which for some reason did not include him. Also, apparently, from what he could tell, it also completely blocked out both rain and fog. From what he noticed from his quick scans of the environment, there was no roof above them that could dispel both the rain and the fog.

 _So how…_

Before he could contemplate his situation any further, another sudden * _thump*_ resounded as his back-end snapped out of line. Again. He counter-steered and quickly resolved his M3's small mishap. He glanced at his rear-view mirror again.

Sure enough, it revealed the car the pitted him at the beginning of their "hot pursuit". Unsurprisingly, judging from its ability to keep up with his M3 on the dirt path, it was a black Mitsubishi Lan Evo IV and was presumably an undercover spec vehicle, which he could tell from the fact that the siren was placed on top of the centre console in its interior.

 _What…?!_

Again, similar to the beginning of their pursuit, it had seemingly disappeared and reappeared out of thin air.

This caused him to inadvertently reminisce about a certain police sergeant-turned bounty hunter who used to pull a similar tactic during their cat-and-mouse-esque chases. Of course, with said police sergeant being _Sergeant Cross_ , he was a lot less subtle and stealthy in his approach than the Evo IV in question. However, even with that being said, the way his current pursuer had seemingly teleported to a couple of centimetres within his vicinity seemed...unnatural, inhuman.

He hoped that his aggressive chaser would also be stuck behind the invisible barrier, so he would be able to find another road connecting the camp and the city, and avoid where the centre of the camp seemed to be, as that would be where its inhabitants would probably reside.

However, as it seemed, he had no such luck.

Because it had an all-wheel drive system which spread an equal amount of power between its axles, he was at a massive disadvantage, as it had a larger amount of grip and control on the surface which they were driving on. Because of this, if the driver wanted to, he (or she) could easily herd him.

Not exactly a comforting fact due to where he was being herded to: the centre of the camp.

 _What was the driver of the Evo thinking? He must have seen the sign; It's like he wants me to run over people simply so he could receive more "rewards" for my capture as there would probably be more charges pressed against me… Still though, at least the fog and rain is gone, if I had to deal with both whilst attempting to avoid mowing down people, my head would probably implode from stress._

Percy gritted his teeth and counter-steered as he was pitted again. _Damn, they're persistent_. The only person he knew who could be any more irritating was _"Sergeant Crossy"_ , a nickname he created for the irritating police officer back when he was racing against the Blacklist. Now, to said officer's dismay, it was what the entire street racing community called him. To say he was "salty" the next time they encountered after Percy left San Francisco was an understatement.

For some reason, after the Evo's last attempt at a _punt_ , the dark aura which surrounded it dissipated and diminished slightly. To the average street racer, that slight change may have been unnoticeable, but due to Percy's perceptive nature, he could spot the slight visual change in its aura. It seemed…slightly less aggressive.

Immediately, this aroused suspicion within Percy's mind. _Is the Evo driver attempting to herd me into a trap? It is a possibility…_

As Percy continued driving forward, glancing at his rear-view in suspicion once every few seconds, he spotted an orange light ahead on his current travel path.

 _A campfire…_

As he approached the light source, he began to notice the vague shape of people crowding around the campfire, and what appeared to be a group of rectangular, single-storey buildings (which he presumed were cabins) arranged in an omega shape around the campfire with the "open end" facing in his direction. He could also spot more cabins hiding behind the gaps between each of the cabins creating the omega shape. From what he could tell from the orange light of the campfire, whilst each of the cabins seemed to have the same dimensions, the material which they were made out of (or at least the exterior paint) seemed different. One of the cabins was painted in a dark red colour which resembled blood, another seemed to be painted silver and yet another in gold. However, as he was scanning the cabins, his eyes latched onto a cabin near the centre of the omega shape, painted with what seemed to be sea-green paint. For an unknown reason, he felt as if he was drawn to that specific cabin. However, he quickly dismissed it as a figment of his imagination. His eyes quickly snapped towards the campfire. There was only a single person present on one side (to his left) of the campfire, while the other side (to his right) was chock full of people. There was a relatively small gap between the crowd and the campfire, one that might actually be large enough to accommodate his M3…

A reckless and potentially life-threatening plan began to form and piece together within his mind, crossing his metaphorical fingers as he continued revising its details.

 _I really hope nobody breaches that gap…_

* * *

A certain son of Hades growled as he pursued the fleeing street racer.

Nico cursed as he attempted to keep the notorious silver and blue M3 GTR in sight through the incessant torrent of rain and the dense, murky fog.

He could tell from the M3's twitchy rear end that the power was transferred solely to the back wheels. He could also tell that the M3 was equipped with street legal, soft compound semi-slicks. Not exactly the ideal tyre for gripping on wet surfaces. Especially if the surface in question is anything other than tarmac and asphalt. Yet, even with all-wheel drive, soft compound gravel-spec tyres and rallying pedigree, his Evo barely kept up with the obsolescent Le Mans racer.

At this point, logic had already taken a backseat.

However, because of this, it led him to believe that the driver of the M3 was, without doubt, a demigod of some sort.

 _The child of a water or ground deity, perhaps…_ Nico thought.

When he first received calls for backup detailing an unsuccessful pursuit after a notorious street racer, he practically jumped at the opportunity for another "easy victory". He firmly believed that he could probably shadow-travel to the escapee's location and announce his presence immediately after shadow-travelling, catching the person off-guard by pitting him (or her, he didn't know), causing him (or her) to become frantic and more susceptible to careless mistakes that usually plagued younger, more inexperienced drivers in police chases.

He had previously used this technique several times against multiple experienced street racers, and on every single occasion, it had worked. Every racer he had "sprung" so far had succumbed to his aggressive and effective technique. He was already building up a solid reputation within his jurisdiction, and a stockpile of pride.

Until he encountered the notorious and infamous M3 GTR, not a single driver he pursued had escaped from his clutches. To find that someone had countered his manoeuvre so easily was a massive beating to his pride. Even though he held the element of surprise, somehow, the pursued driver had managed to make their counter-steering and the general movements made in an attempt to counter Nico's aggressive punt seem graceful and effortless, as if the person was taking a simple stroll in a park on a Sunday evening. If Nico was spectating the pursuit from the sidelines, lacking knowledge regarding how the Beemer suddenly experienced a bout of snap oversteer, he would've believed the slide was purposely initiated by the M3 driver, most likely attempting to achieve a similar effect as brake-checking.

He had both underestimated "Blacklisted" and overestimated his own abilities. His pride had truly blinded him.

However, he did have two backup plans.

Nico knew exactly where the police chase was heading, which was what his first plan was counting on. If the driver of the M3 was mortal, then when he (or she) eventually reaches the Camp Half-Blood barrier, he (or she) would crash into it, most likely totalling their car in the process. However, he highly doubted that would work, if the massive sea-green aura which surrounded the M3 and went beyond the driver's seemingly ubiquitous reserves of talent and skill was anything to go by.

His second plan was to launch another sneak attack on the M3 just as it enters the vicinity of Camp Half-Blood, and if that failed as well, he would attempt to herd the M3 towards where the "campfire night" event should be taking place, where he could possibly gain support from his fellow demigods (in one of the previous "campfire nights", he informed all those who were present of his job. They also knew what his Evo looked like and what his license plate was, so if they spotted him pursuing someone, they might use their powers to assist in tipping the pursuit in his favour. Even more so now, as they were charging towards the same war veterans at over two hundred kilometres per hour, which should, with no doubt, cause them to perceive the M3 driver as a threat). Of course, there was still a major flaw with his latter plan. When he shadow-travelled directly behind the seemingly untouchable street racer, he had brought two fellow officers with him, though they were both mortals, so he was forced to use the mist to manipulate their thoughts, and cause them to believe that they had travelled normally by car to the location which they had been teleported to. He couldn't exactly warn them of a supernatural barrier that they would most likely crash into, so in order to continue the pursuit, he would have to abandon them.

He really hoped that the mist would mask their perception of what was about to occur.

Suddenly, the M3 disappeared from view. Nico cursed as he gripped his steering wheel slightly harder. He had truly hoped that his first plan would work, as that would remove a lot of complications.

However, as it seemed, he had no such luck, so he immediately began to initiate his second plan.

He quickly shadow-travelled behind the street racer once more and pitted him. However, once again, his efforts were futile. The M3 almost immediately straightened itself up, still keeping its gracefulness as it counter-steered in order to resolve the slide. Just as he first suspected, the M3 driver truly was an enigma, and its first counter to his pit wasn't a fluke. However, despite this, if his assumptions regarding how the escapee was the child of a sea deity were correct, the M3 driver had just lost a massive advantage.

Sure enough, whilst Nico had gained a lot more traction in general due to the lack of rain within the Camp Half-Blood barrier, which he could tell from the way his Evo responded to his steering movements, the Beemer seemed to wield the same amount of grip as it did in the rain, which Nico could tell from M3's reaction to his punt. In fact, it seemed to have lost a slight amount of grip. While it could have been unnoticeable to the inexperienced, to those who were festooned with experience and spent their time observing, they should notice the slight difference.

While Nico barely kept up with the M3 in the rain, now, on this terrain, he held the advantage; he had superior traction. He could corner faster, he could accelerate faster, he had a lot more control, and from his opponent's more aggressive use of the throttle and flaring aura, they knew that as well.

Because of the advantages he had, Nico could "herd" the M3. Every time its driver attempted to change direction (or facing any other direction other than towards where Nico believed campfire night was taking place), Nico would immediately turn towards the same direction, making sure he was ahead of the M3 before turning towards it, basically threatening to "T-bone" it. Every time he did this, the driver of the Le Mans racer would dart back towards their original pathway which should eventually lead to the cabins and the group of battle-hardened demigods who should have gathered around a magical campfire.

Nico had no doubt that the driver of the M3 knew that all their efforts to escape from their "designated" path were futile, as their changes in direction became less and less frequent.

Eventually, after what seemed hours of "herding", Nico spotted a large group of cabins arranged in a familiar omega shape, illuminated by the (currently) orange campfire which resided within. From what he could see from behind the M3, the side of the campfire to his left only contained one person, whilst the side to his right was jam-packed with demigods.

He had no doubt that the street racer would turn to the less crowded side of the campfire (to the left) when they reached the campfire, probably to prevent further charges if they were caught. Or perhaps the driver held knowledge regarding the second Titanomachy and Giant War and wanted to avoid provoking the demigod war veterans by running into them.

As they approached the campfire, Nico noticed that all those who were present stared in their direction, some fiddling with their "stationary", some ready to leap into their battle stances. A malicious grin began to form on his face, as. _Seems like It's the end of the road for you, Blacklisted_. His grin only became wider once he spotted a large group which consisted of adolescent girls dressed in silver. Despite the Hunters' prejudice against males and their biased treatment of girls, he knew they would not hesitate to strike down upon any threat. A twisted part of his mind hoped that the driver of the M3 was male, so he would be punished and possibly executed by the huntresses. Whilst his mind kept on reasoning with him incessantly, telling him that the M3 driver would have deserved it, he knew that the reason why he effectively wanted the street racer to burn was his damaged pride.

However, as they entered the "omega" placement of the cabins, before he could contemplate his twisted desires any further, the M3 began turning to the left, initiating a slide.

Nico grinned. _Perfect_. He turned to the left, ready to T-bone the M3.

Suddenly, the M3 GTR became a blur of blue and silver as it changed direction in the blink of an eye, narrowly avoiding and dodging two silver arrows (which were presumably shot by the huntresses) aimed at its previous pathway. Nico's eyes widened, his jaw hanging open in horror as the M3 darted towards the right, where most of his fellow war veterans had gathered. His eyes, if possible, widened further as he slowly realized what exactly the M3 driver was attempting to aim for.

 _No freaking way! Are you out of your mind?! With those wide-body arches, your M3 won't fit in that gap!_

The M3 GTR darted towards the narrow gap between the crowd of demigods and the magical campfire, its tail swinging out slightly as it turned to the right, ambitiously aiming for a gap that may or may not be wide enough for its arches.

If Nico was to attempt the same brazen manoeuvre, he would have definitely braked much earlier and slalomed at a much slower speed. However, judging from the immense speed that the M3 carried, its driver was quite a lot more ambitious than he was.

The group of demigods quickly shuffled backwards as the Le Mans racer shot towards the narrow gap, unsheathing their weapons as they prepared to face what they perceived as a threat. Most of them had also spotted the Evo IV which trailed behind the M3. The majority of those who had spotted it, with the children of Athena in particular, had already developed a rather deep understanding of their situation, recalling what Nico claimed was his job, the image he displayed to them of his undercover-spec Evo and his license plate. They didn't, however, expect the suspect to employ such an aggressive and brazen manoeuvre simply to evade their chaser, hence why despite the fact that most of them were already wielding their weapons, none of them had attacked immediately.

Just before the M3 reached the beginning of the gap, its front wheels snapped to the other direction as it quickly transitioned, its rear wheels snapping to the right in an instant as the M3 performed a low-angle slide whilst it turned to the left, which was most likely unavoidable due to the surface on which the pursuit was occurring.

As soon as the M3 entered the gap, its driver drove extraordinarily close to the apex, its front bumper and front left wide-body arch less than a millimetre away from the logs fuelling the campfire.

Soon after, the threatened demigods began to open fire. Arrows penetrated the body panels attached to the chassis of the M3. Nico quickly lost count of the number of arrows which were attached to the M3 as it began its transformation into a car-shaped hedgehog. Well, a car-shaped hedgehog that had shaved one side and an assortment of different arrows (with several swords and spears sticking out on the same side as well).

Somehow, even with the incessant torrents of arrows raining down on the M3, the driver maintained the distance between their car and the campfire logs, despite the increased slide angle, which he believed was mostly caused by slight panic (perhaps?). In fact, the M3 seemed to have increased the speed at which it cornered, most likely to escape from the aggressive demigods.

Nico grinned as he watched what he believed was the downfall of who many believed to be the most notorious and infamous street racer of all time.

 _Seems like a single-person slaughter is about to commence_.

* * *

 ** _Did you guys spot my reference to the horror driving game "Beware"? If you haven't heard of it before, then I would recommend you to download and play the demo (I'll admit, I haven't played the demo yet as the only computer I own is a crummy school laptop without admin), or at least watch videos about it. It truly seems to be an amazing game, even in its current form, so I highly recommend you to check it out._**

 ** _BTW, what did you think of the chapter length?_**

 ** _Also, I'm considering changing the rating to M for blood/gore for the next chapter. Should I, or should I not?_**

 ** _Mach1av3ll1an out!_**


	4. Intrigue

**_Eh guys, Mach1av3ll1an 'ere!_**

 ** _One thing you guys may already have noticed is the rather peculiar (short) length for each section (distance between line breaks) in this specific chapter in comparison to my previous chapters. The reasoning for this is because this is, effectively, an "author's note" chapter, which according to the rules and guidelines should be avoided. I am wholly aware of the numerous grammatical errors present in my previous chapters, which I will (should, at least) address in the next update. Also, the reasoning behind the "small updates" warning is because I do want to update one of my other stories (Closed Eyes). Again, like I said in one of my previous chapters, do not dismiss this as a "permanent hiatus" message, as I will definitely type up another 5,000+ words chapter (maybe even 10,000+) after I have updated my other story (should, at least). I should also type up several one-shots before I start creating the next chapter for this fanfic._**

 ** _Additionally, to any fellow motoring enthusiasts who actually bothered to read this crappy fanfic up to this point, just got to make a quick adjustment to the real-life timeline regarding the Beemer's engine._**

 ** _For those of you who lack knowledge regarding the Beemer, in the real world, the M3 GTR was first equipped with a modified version of the same V6 that was present within its road-going counterparts, such as the standard M3 and the M3 CSL (which was released later on). It was only after BMW's and Schnitzer's multiple losses against Porsche and their 996s when they decided they had enough and created the P60B40 V8 that we all know and love. They equipped the M3 GTR with their newly created engine before whooping Porsche's arse the following year in ALMS. In my story, The M3 GTR was debuted WITH the P60B40 equipped instead of the original V6. Also, the M3 GTR is going to be a lot more OP in my story._**

* * *

 **Chapter IV – Intrigue**

Chiron almost immediately recognized the aura which surrounded and blanketed the blue and silver monstrosity right after it had first appeared in his peripherals. He may not have seen it in many years, but due to his immaculate memory recalling (one of the many useful perks that are always served alongside the culinary delight called immortality), he could tell the aura was that of one of his former pupils.

He could recall the seemingly incessant barrage of emotions such as desperation and franticness that plagued his mind on each and every occasion in which he attempted to search for who he firmly believed to be a son of Poseidon, who had suddenly disappeared one day, seemingly into thin air. At the time, no matter what he did or attempted, he could not find a single trace of evidence which may have led him to his student. There was no trail to suggest where the green-eyed delinquent had disappeared off to.

Of course, there was also the possibility that the teenager had been arrested by the police (how the high-school student had maintained his immaculate grades and his juvenile, reckless, somewhat asinine and brazen attitude and mindset [Chiron knew of his student's...extracurricular activities], he would never know), however, with the beginnings of a war brewing (at the time), Chiron could not take any chances. Yet, despite his numerous searches, his efforts were proved to be futile. It was like Perseus Jackson had, out of nowhere, ceased to exist.

For (whom he believed to be) the sea deity's son to appear out of the thin air in which he had disappeared off into after so many years chock-full of relentless but fruitless searches and investigations at the destination at which Chiron had tried to bring him to seemed rather ironic.

There was also the fact that all the demigods seemed to have established the sea deity's descendant as a threat (which he could tell from the weapons they brandished and the aggressive driving style of Percy's pursuer).

He tried calling out, shouting as he desperately attempted to convince the demigods to withhold their assault as to prevent the powerful half-blood present within the Beemer from perceiving them as a threat, but under the piercing whine of the "straight-cut gears", his cries were unheard.

He watched in horror as barrages of attacks rained down on the M3, its aura growing increasingly aggressive and desperate.

He was fully aware of how well the saying "the cornered animal is the most dangerous out of the lot" applied to their current predicament. He knew that if the demigods continued to aggressively and relentlessly attack the M3, Percy would become a lot more brazen and reckless as a result of desperation, perhaps even bypassing his own morals in an attempt to escape. In fact, from what Chiron could tell at least, this process had already begun as Percy had already executed a brazen manoeuvre: cutting in between the crowd of demigods and the magical campfire. Additionally, there was also the small, insignificant fact that Percy's use of the throttle had become more aggressive once the demigods began attacking him just a few seconds prior.

Chiron could only hope that his ex-pupil would not attempt anything extraordinarily rash, reckless or anything that can be classified as asinine.

 _Perseus…please do not take anyone's lives…_

* * *

The twelve Olympian gods (plus Hestia and Hades) and their champions watched with interest as a hot pursuit involving a certain notorious BMW M3 GTR and a Mitsubishi Evo IV plunged into Camp Half-Blood.

Just before the feed they were currently watching had been broadcasted, the Winter Solstice meeting had started off normally. Zeus was having another argument with Hera regarding his unfaithfulness, Apollo and Artemis were quarrelling about another insignificant topic, aiming their bows at each other as they argued, Hermes was whispering to Apollo, presumably planning another prank on the other gods, Athena and Poseidon were also arguing, Demeter was eating cereal, Hephaestus was assembling what appeared to be an RB26DETT, Ares was twirling a pocket knife, Aphrodite was redoing her makeup for the umpteenth time, Dionysus was asleep, Hestia was tending to the fire and Hades seemed to be brooding. However, suddenly, the gods were notified of an intrusion in Camp Half-Blood. Zeus immediately tossed a drachma into the air, Poseidon levitating water so it was in contact with the coin and Zeus said, "Oh Iris, goddess of the Rainbow, please accept my offering. Show me the intruder of Camp Half-Blood."

A rainbow emerged on top of the water, on which there was a screen with transparent edges which displayed the main entrance of Camp Half-Blood and for some reason, projected a strange high-pitched whining noise. Only a second or two after the screen had been formed, suddenly, a blue and silver BMW E46 M3 appeared on the screen, its rear tyres spinning as it scrambled for grip. From what can be seen on the exterior, it had side-exit exhaust pipes, a massive rear wing combined with even larger wide-body arches, a racing filler cap, and a vented hood. They even caught a glimpse of a padded roll-cage fitted within the interior.

Hephaestus immediately recognized the car several of his children had helped design and build. It was the prototype version of the BMW M3 GTR, which he could tell from both the livery and some of the features that would not have complied with the American Le Mans regulations.

When the M3 GTR was first designed and prototyped, its designers did not have any particular purpose for it other than speed. It was supposed to be a "tech & research project" that should have simply advanced BMW's technology and their understanding of how certain components affect vehicle performance on the track. It was also simultaneously part of another project which aimed to push the M3 to its absolute limit. This was why it was first created with no limitations in mind.

BMW had done many similar projects in the past, such as with the 3.0 CSL, the M1 and even the original M3, the E30.

Typically, BMW would then proceed to use the result of these projects in motor racing, though with a few adjustments and minor alterations to meet certain regulations.

When the idea of the E46 M3 GTR was first proposed, the BMW guys thought it would perform somewhat well in motorsports, perhaps snagging them a win or two in the process. In the end, as it turned out, they had completely underestimated the amount of potential the E46 chassis carried. For undiscovered reasons, because of how the chassis was shaped, it was equipped with an absurd amount of strength, stiffness and structural integrity. Of course, it was designed to be rigid so BMW could maintain their reputation as one of the "sporty" manufacturers, but it definitely wasn't supposed to be this strong and structurally sound. In fact, there were still a few kinks that could have been smoothed out to increase the stiffness of the chassis even further.

The Schnitzer Motorsport guys immediately began playing around with the car. They removed the aforementioned kinks on the chassis blueprints before they remodelled it entirely out of a mixture of carbon fibre, celestial bronze and imperial gold (the majority of the people that were working on the M3 GTR were, coincidentally, descendants of Hephaestus and Vulcan). The two godly metals were also used within many other components, such as the brake discs, pads, and the roll cage.

They also experimented with kinetic suspension (made famous [later on] for its presence and usage in the McLaren 720s and P1), which eliminated the need for anti-roll bars and maintained grip on bumpy surfaces.

In fact, when a detuned version of the prototype was raced in ALMS (the original prototype did not comply with some of the rules and regulations), it actually managed to keep up with the prototype class (even driving faster in some of the tighter sections of the track), maintaining an absurd amount of speed throughout the corners.

Perhaps the fact that BMW had completely decimated Porsche in that year's ALMS was the warranting factor which led to Porsche's complaint regarding the fact that the P60B40 V8 (the engine which powers the M3 GTR) was more of a prototype, as it didn't have a road-legal version for people to buy. After this complaint, BMW immediately began production of the "street" version of the M3 GTR, only creating five road-going examples. In the next year's ALMS race, BMW completely annihilated all of their opponents, once again dethroning Porsche as the "king" of the GT class in ALMS. However, the year after this, ALMS introduced a new rule which said that for one to enter a car into the 24-hour race event, at least 500 road-going versions of their cars and their engines must have been sold to the general public.

As BMW and Schnitzer decided not to mass-produce the P60B40 V8, they had to withdraw the M3 GTR from ALMS, effectively handing the GT-class trophy to Porsche on a silver platter. Afterwards, BMW continued entering the BMW M3 GTR into races and tournaments, all of which were a far cry from ALMS and decidedly less famous. However, while the racing versions of the M3 GTR were basically rendered obsolete by the new (well, new at the time) ALMS rules, they kept on fiddling around with the prototype M3 GTR, effectively using it as a "guinea pig" for all their experiments and continuously improving its general performance.

However, the question of what happened to the M3 GTR afterwards happened to reside in one of the few grey areas present within his vast knowledge regarding any machinery. Well, he did hear whispers that BMW quietly sponsored a street racer to gain attention (and potentially new customers) from the underground community and gave said street racer the M3 GTR prototype, but Hephaestus simply dismissed it as rumour and speculation, though this was not surprising to anyone he shared his opinion with, as it was unheard of for legitimate car manufacturers to sponsor anyone with any major offences, much less people who race illegally on the streets for a living.

Of course, judging from the location in which the BMW was being driven, Hephaestus was proven wrong.

There was also the very familiar and unmistakable aura (though noticeably less dense and widespread than the aura which he compared it to) which enveloped the Beemer and connected its driver to a single, very specific god. The god of machinery briefly wondered whether any of the other gods had made the connection yet. However, before he could ponder the situation any further, the small moment of peace and quiet was interrupted by the bellow of a wild animal.

"POSEIDON!" Well, as it seemed, perhaps he wasn't the only one.

* * *

 ** _I would like to apologize for the delay and the fact that I had to cut this filler chapter short, which was mainly due to the fact that I was caught up with work (and a fair amount of procrastination as well)._**

 ** _Also, I'm planning on taking a (somewhat) brief break from this fanfic, as I am still unsure whether I should change the rating to M and make the next chapter gore-y (PLEASE tell me your opinion regarding this). There is also the plus factor that I have recovered some of my unpublished fanfics from multiple years ago, one of which I will be revamping soon (*cough* *cough* an Initial D/Wangan Midnight Crossover *cough* *cough*)._**

 ** _Anyways, Mach1av3ll1an out!_**


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